Geeks everywhere clamor for "Net Neutrality". Don't tread on me... or my data. And if the FCC has their way that'll be exactly what happens. My guess: it isn't going to make the geeks happy. It's a nice slogan to rally behind... but the reality is quite different.
The geeky idea here is that the evil ISPs are stepping all over their packets and making life miserable for them all for the idea that some premium corporate service gets better tubes than you do. Or that evil ISPs will block their competition just upstream of YOUR HOUSE. And, in a way, they're right. There are little bits of truth here. Very little.
Truth is a modern ISP probably has multiple services going on: web, email, DNS, ftp, voice, video and a whole host of unimaginable data services... maybe even burglar alarms, traffic lights, surveillance cameras... And while you may think your traffic is more important than mine, it turns out the importance isn't so much a perspective of whose data it is, but what kind.
If you are sitting around in your underwear surfing the web, you are dealing with very interactive data. Click... ebay. Click... amazon. Click... porn. Click... order a pizza. While it's cool that the time between "click" and "porn" is small... it isn't critical to the operation. If it takes half a second or three-quarters of a second... it doesn't really matter.
Voice and video are different. If you have an stream of Grey's Anatomy that is redrawing your screen (which is possibly 1,920×1,080 little dottie bits) 24 times a second... and you miss a half a second.... that's very different. You'll get little sparkley bits of frozen crap on the screen.
The same is true of your phone call. If little parts get delayed or dropped out... I'll start stuttering and -ou wi-- -ear --ly -arts of --e --nversat--n.
Now, enter government. They'll fix it. They fix everything. They argue that since they're regulating telephone and television... it just makes sense. Of course, telephone was built as a government mandated monopoly back in the days of Ma Bell. The regulation was in trade for a guaranteed sack of cash. Television operated on radio waves the government stepped in and decided they owned... ISPs, on the other hand, built their own networks with their own money... and it is not something that is cheap to build.
ISPs hauling huge mounds of data (video, telephones, etc) from place to place and they're renting you the part they have left over. In short, Disney is subsidizing your internet access cost in exchange for the ability for you to watch the latest sitcom on ABC. Net neutrality wants to make all data equal... and the only way it can do that is to make the pipes bigger or the data smaller.
Do you want fewer TV channels? Do you want more fast busy signals? Lower resolution TV shows? Do you want higher cost access fees to subsidize bigger pipes? Stuttery voice conversations? Frozen TV shows? These are the trade offs that will come, in some combination, with true protocol agnostic networks.
Think back. What has been the most growth intensive thing in your lifetime? What has changed the landscape more than anything? For me, it's clearly the internet. Was it built on the bones of a government network? Sure. But that network grew at a snail's pace until it fell in the unregulated hands of the private sector. And it has made more money for more people than could have ever been imagined. Why, in your wildest dreams, would anyone think pulling it under federal controls would help?
Friday, December 3, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
the Parable
I have decided the parable has become a lost literary art. I would like to revive it.
There was once a geeky guy named Zeke. Yes, he was Zeke the Geek. He tended to sometimes be a little shy and sometimes had difficulty talking to and meeting girls. Yet, he was an intelligent, successful guy in his own way. He wasn't overly wealthy, but he did alright.
One day he was sitting at home alone, petting his dog Muskrat. He thought to himself "Zeke," (because he often addressed himself by his first name when he talked to himself), "you need to get out more. You should go to a nice bar and have a drink amongst the company of humans."
And so, Zeke did. He picked a very nice quiet bar with lots of mohagany and walnut. Zeke walked right up and sat on a prominant stool and ordered himself a Gin and Tonic. Yes, this was nice. This was living.
It wasn't long until a very attractive dark haired beauty walked into the bar. There were barstools everywhere... and yet, to his surprise, she sat right by him. She ordered herself a wine fizzleflop and slowly sipped on the straw.
There were glances. Smiles. She eventually spoke to him.
"My name is Allison."
"Hi, I am Zeke."
They started talking. Oddly enough they had things in common.
Allison, like Zeke was sort of an oddball geek. She was into computers. She liked dogs. She was a little shy.
At one point, the conversation turned to cars. Zeke loved cars. He giggled and said "My favorite all time car ever is an Aston-Martin. I'd do anything to get a chance to drive a DB-9. It would make me feel just like James Bond."
"No way. I have a DB-9."
Zeke just laughed. "Oh, yeah, like you have one parked right outside."
Allison was a little defensive. "I do, in fact."
"You have a $180,000 car parked outside?"
"Sure. I've done really well writing computer games. And I inherited a ton of money from my uncle. I'd even let you drive it if you really want."
"You're serious?"
"Yes," she said, drawing the keys out of her purse. The winged Aston Martin insignia could be seen on a prominent key. Smiling, Allison handed him the key ring and said, "Drive it around for about 30 minutes. Have fun."
Zeke was smiling like a child. He was giddy.... almost woozy. He started to giggle, not believing this was happening to HIM. This was the best day ever!
"So I can just take it? And drive it around? Really?"
"Really."
He stood up. His shaking hand reached out and gingerly took the key. He stood up straight and tall, full of pride and waltzed out the front door of the bar.
A few moments passed.... and then Zeke walked back in and handed the keys back to Allison.
"Is there a problem?" she asked.
"It's blue. I like red."
And with that, Zeke happily turned down a chance to drive something he had always wanted to drive and could never own. He was happy with his decision. He walked out the front door and went home to his faithful dog Muskrat.
The End
Oh, and on a totally unrelated note. I was told that in the modern dating scene men have no interest in dating women with pubic hair.
There was once a geeky guy named Zeke. Yes, he was Zeke the Geek. He tended to sometimes be a little shy and sometimes had difficulty talking to and meeting girls. Yet, he was an intelligent, successful guy in his own way. He wasn't overly wealthy, but he did alright.
One day he was sitting at home alone, petting his dog Muskrat. He thought to himself "Zeke," (because he often addressed himself by his first name when he talked to himself), "you need to get out more. You should go to a nice bar and have a drink amongst the company of humans."
And so, Zeke did. He picked a very nice quiet bar with lots of mohagany and walnut. Zeke walked right up and sat on a prominant stool and ordered himself a Gin and Tonic. Yes, this was nice. This was living.
It wasn't long until a very attractive dark haired beauty walked into the bar. There were barstools everywhere... and yet, to his surprise, she sat right by him. She ordered herself a wine fizzleflop and slowly sipped on the straw.
There were glances. Smiles. She eventually spoke to him.
"My name is Allison."
"Hi, I am Zeke."
They started talking. Oddly enough they had things in common.
Allison, like Zeke was sort of an oddball geek. She was into computers. She liked dogs. She was a little shy.
At one point, the conversation turned to cars. Zeke loved cars. He giggled and said "My favorite all time car ever is an Aston-Martin. I'd do anything to get a chance to drive a DB-9. It would make me feel just like James Bond."
"No way. I have a DB-9."
Zeke just laughed. "Oh, yeah, like you have one parked right outside."
Allison was a little defensive. "I do, in fact."
"You have a $180,000 car parked outside?"
"Sure. I've done really well writing computer games. And I inherited a ton of money from my uncle. I'd even let you drive it if you really want."
"You're serious?"
"Yes," she said, drawing the keys out of her purse. The winged Aston Martin insignia could be seen on a prominent key. Smiling, Allison handed him the key ring and said, "Drive it around for about 30 minutes. Have fun."
Zeke was smiling like a child. He was giddy.... almost woozy. He started to giggle, not believing this was happening to HIM. This was the best day ever!
"So I can just take it? And drive it around? Really?"
"Really."
He stood up. His shaking hand reached out and gingerly took the key. He stood up straight and tall, full of pride and waltzed out the front door of the bar.
A few moments passed.... and then Zeke walked back in and handed the keys back to Allison.
"Is there a problem?" she asked.
"It's blue. I like red."
And with that, Zeke happily turned down a chance to drive something he had always wanted to drive and could never own. He was happy with his decision. He walked out the front door and went home to his faithful dog Muskrat.
The End
Oh, and on a totally unrelated note. I was told that in the modern dating scene men have no interest in dating women with pubic hair.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
A little housekeeping
This is just a little bit of an update for those that actually know me. [ I've found the vast majority of my "fans" are drive-bys that are presumably at work, bored to tears and are just clicking "next blog, next blog, next blog, next blog" in an effort to make it to 5 o'clock. ] At the first of the year, in between the spittle-spewing rants, I actually mentioned my goal for the year was to move out of my Unabomber tool shed and into a real honest-to-goodness house -- like one with real walls and a roof and a real central HVAC system. And, to add to that goal: to do it all on a cash flow basis.
Well, I'm pretty sure that it's not going to happen this year, but we are at least getting close -- well, close to starting anyway. We do now have finalized plans. Let the builder bidding begin.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Mark Zuckerberg stole my ideas
Mark Zuckerberg stole my ideas. He owes me $171 million. Sure, I pulled that number out of my ass, but it'd keep my belly full of pork products for the rest of my days -- so it seems about right.
As you'll learn over the next few weeks (after the release of Facebook: The Movie) that Mr. Zuckarski has a reputation for stealing of ideas. And he's surely stolen mine.
Think about it. What do you think of when you think of something on teh intarwebs that is:
Oh sure, you may point out that the origins of Facebook were in 2004 and the beginnings of the holy Spork were in 2006, but I don't think that's enough evidence. You're forgetting that this guy has a net worth of about $7 billion dollars... I'm relatively sure this is enough to purchase a time machine in order to steal my business plan. If only I had figured out a way to make money with my implementation. If only.
First, Zuckerello tries to win on traffic flow alone. As of July, 2010 the estimated users on facebook was about 500 million. Now I don't have access to his logs to compare that with my own traffic, but if I do a little estimation, I think he may be getting more hits than me. I cannot say for sure... but I think he is.
And if that wasn't enough, he now is trying to trump me on uselessness. First he introduced a new method of data mining where people VOLUNTEERED their most personal information to applications written by absolute strangers he wasn't paying... And today he is going to announce he is giving $100 million to the Newark public school system. Damn, Zuckophaleese... you pulled ahead of me. You are now King Useless. I bow before you.
Let's put this in perspective, shall we? The Newark Public School system is terrible -- with a 51% graduation rate. Their mission statement must be "We be better than Cleveland." The whole system was seized and taken over by the state in 1995 for its supreme waste and mismanagement. Clearly, this is a money problem, right? Zuckonnel to the rescue!
Well, maybe not. The nationwide cost per student runs about $8,000. Hell, the smell-my-bootie private school here in town runs $10,000 per year. Newark about doubles that at $19,000. Nationwide teacher salaries average around $40k. But the poor educators in Newark are forced to live on a measly average pay of $63k. (And DON'T you bitch at me about poor underpaid teachers. Remember that this is a 9 month contract, not a year. If you adjust this to the 12 month year most of us work, it works out to an equivalent $88k.)
Zuckeroo falls into the same stupid hole that so many consumers (and 99.9% of politicians) fall into: If something isn't working, throw money at it. At least he's not borrowing to do it. But jeez: for $100M you could build a moat of private schools around all those failing public schools -- and let all the kids attend for free. My crystal ball says: In 1-5 years you'll see a fine new batch of controversy, cronyism and embezzelment surrounding this.
Uselessness of Spork: 0; Zuckminster Abby: 1
As you'll learn over the next few weeks (after the release of Facebook: The Movie) that Mr. Zuckarski has a reputation for stealing of ideas. And he's surely stolen mine.
Think about it. What do you think of when you think of something on teh intarwebs that is:
- useless
- about nothing
- a time waster
- a senseless self promotion
Oh sure, you may point out that the origins of Facebook were in 2004 and the beginnings of the holy Spork were in 2006, but I don't think that's enough evidence. You're forgetting that this guy has a net worth of about $7 billion dollars... I'm relatively sure this is enough to purchase a time machine in order to steal my business plan. If only I had figured out a way to make money with my implementation. If only.
First, Zuckerello tries to win on traffic flow alone. As of July, 2010 the estimated users on facebook was about 500 million. Now I don't have access to his logs to compare that with my own traffic, but if I do a little estimation, I think he may be getting more hits than me. I cannot say for sure... but I think he is.
And if that wasn't enough, he now is trying to trump me on uselessness. First he introduced a new method of data mining where people VOLUNTEERED their most personal information to applications written by absolute strangers he wasn't paying... And today he is going to announce he is giving $100 million to the Newark public school system. Damn, Zuckophaleese... you pulled ahead of me. You are now King Useless. I bow before you.
Let's put this in perspective, shall we? The Newark Public School system is terrible -- with a 51% graduation rate. Their mission statement must be "We be better than Cleveland." The whole system was seized and taken over by the state in 1995 for its supreme waste and mismanagement. Clearly, this is a money problem, right? Zuckonnel to the rescue!
Well, maybe not. The nationwide cost per student runs about $8,000. Hell, the smell-my-bootie private school here in town runs $10,000 per year. Newark about doubles that at $19,000. Nationwide teacher salaries average around $40k. But the poor educators in Newark are forced to live on a measly average pay of $63k. (And DON'T you bitch at me about poor underpaid teachers. Remember that this is a 9 month contract, not a year. If you adjust this to the 12 month year most of us work, it works out to an equivalent $88k.)
Zuckeroo falls into the same stupid hole that so many consumers (and 99.9% of politicians) fall into: If something isn't working, throw money at it. At least he's not borrowing to do it. But jeez: for $100M you could build a moat of private schools around all those failing public schools -- and let all the kids attend for free. My crystal ball says: In 1-5 years you'll see a fine new batch of controversy, cronyism and embezzelment surrounding this.
Uselessness of Spork: 0; Zuckminster Abby: 1
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Spastic Surgery
Women: I'm looking at you. Sure, some of my super human wisdom below applies to some men... but you are clearly the target here.
I don't hate plastic surgery per se. I hate what it's become. If my nose were to get ripped clean off in a freak bird watching incident, I'd want it reattached. And I'd pretty much want it to look like it does now. Not that I am Brad Pitt, I have just become accustomed to my appearance. Picking bogies out of George Clooney's nose just seems wrong.
In general, I'm opposed to any voluntary surgery. Surgery has significant risks. It's necessary sometimes. But if you even have to think about whether you need it or not, you probably don't.
There's not a heterosexual man on the planet that cares about the shape of your lips or the height of your cheekbones. Well, okay, there's probably a few, but they have some weird ass high-cheekbone, curly fish lip fetish that borders on creepy and they really are not the sort of guys you want to attract. If you're having plastic surgery -- and I mean any non-medical plastic surgery -- you're doing it not for men and probably not even for yourself. You're doing it for some idiotic Madison Avenue advertising executive that is running a campaign to tell you that you are ugly. Is this really the guy you want to impress? If Darren Stevens were to walk in the room and proclaim in front of his boss Larry that you have wrinkles at the corner of your eyes that make you look hideous, wouldn't you rather punch him in the mouth than spend $10 grand making him happy? I mean: he's such a prick to Samantha anyway.
If you don't believe that this is all some advertising plot, take a wide eyed look at The Doctors TV show, where "America's medical dream team" lives. (This week they're talking about women and heart disease with renown expert Barbara Striesand.) And what is this "dream team"? An ER specialist, an OB/Gyn, a pediatrician, and a plastic surgeon. Really? Is that really the 4 most important medical specialties you can come up with? If you say yes, you're already in need of a psychiatrist.
Facial wrinkles are a character map and express all sorts of emotive response. Trying to pull them tight or cover them up makes you look foolish. You're not fooling anyone and if you doubt me take a look at Joan Rivers or Bruce Jenner or Burt Reynolds or Micheal Jackson or ... well, I could go on ad infinitum. If your think your limited funds will buy a better job than these megastars, I've got a bridge in Jersey for sale.
I have distinct memories of my two grandmothers: one with sour, sagging wrinkles and the other with deep lines on her face that would make you think she had been laughing every minute of the previous 70 years. I can't remember the former ever being happy. The latter still has a place in my head as an attractive elderly woman -- but not in some creepy grand-Oedipus sort of way. To me this suggests that if you want to look pretty, then you need to be happy. Period.
The contrast is the ever unhappy, ever unsatisfied chick whose face is never young enough, breasts are never big enough and hair is never light enough. Madison Avenue will forever have you buying goo, hiring surgeons and attending your colorist. And all of these changes come with maintenance. You can't just fix it and forget it. You'll have to tweak and spackle and lighten until the day they do it one last time and close the casket door. And don't think for a moment you're doing it to attract a man (or please a man you already have). Men don't care. Big boobs, little boobs, medium boobs -- they're all boobs. We all like them. All of them. Think we all like blonds? We do. We also all like redheads and brunettes and everything in between. We don't care what your shoes cost and could care less who designed your dress. We'd almost all prefer to see you in blue jeans or nothing at all. Sorry, but that's the truth.
And if you, for some odd reason, have latched on the guy that cares about this trivia, then you have latched on the guy that has a pretty damn superficial view of you. He will always want you to be that 24 year old perky blond with big tits and a tight little butt. And when you turn 35 and are still trying to look 24 you won't fool him or anyone else. But it won't matter because while he smiles and says that "tummy tuck looks great honey" he's busy "working late" boinking the office slut -- who I might add is really still 24 and perky. A real man falls in love with the 24 year old and sees that same perky 24 year old when you're 73 and your teeth are floating in a fizzy concoction of Efferdent.
So, girls: don't buy it. Don't buy the $50 Armani mascara. Don't turn your hair a color that doesn't match your skin tone as that will just bring on a host of other changes. Embrace the boobs that fit your body type. We like them. Don't mess with your face. It's perfect the way it is. Don't go down the road of Jennifer Grey -- who made her place in Hollywood with one face and lost it with another.
I mean it.
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